The Wrath of Mr Woofy
by Bezo and Yezo
Summary: Who can tell the motives of a madman? How about the motives of a mad mechanical puppy dog? Captain Power and the Soldiers of the Future face Lord Dread's most devious creation yet: the flippydog!
1. Who Can Tell the Motives of a Madman?

The Wrath of Mr. Woofy!

----------------------------------

Disclaimer: We don't own these characters. However, Yezo does own Mr. Woofy. Please, if you want to use him in your 'fic (so, if you fall out of a tree and sustain severe head trauma), please ask for permission first. ^_^ Or else, our fake-armour-wearin' penguin lawyer will sue you. He isn't a real lawyer, but his armour (and his little webbed feet) is real! ^_^ 

Just kidding. And now that we've left you fearing what this story may hold, read on! ^_^

----------------------------------

Chapter 1 – Who Can Tell the Motives of a Madman?

----------------------------------

It was a lovely, sunny day deep in the bowels of the barren wasteland that is the future. Bunnies were not bounding all over the place, the last bunny having been eradicated from the earth fifteen years ago. 

There were plenty of rats, and if one had been truly insistent about having a bunny, one could glue a pair of plastic ears onto a rat and have a sort of makeshift pseudo-bunny, but it is almost certain that neither the rat nor the child to whom the pseudo-bunny was presented would have thanked you. It is not commonly known, but still very prevalent in scientific thought, that rats have no desire to be bunnies.

At any rate, all of this is beside the point...which has been quite forgotten beneath an avalanche of silliness. 

Let us get this story back on track, shall we? Fun as it may be, meandering side-rhetoric does not a tale make. 

--------------------------------

   "Hmm...another one of those bunnies," Captain Power noted. "We should get Mentor to check this out. I'm pretty sure bunnies haven't existed for at least fourteen years."

   "Fifteen," Hawk corrected.   

Scout blinked.

   "Well, then, what was that?" he demanded, gesturing toward the pseudo-bunny. "Some sort of...rat...with plastic bunny ears glued on?"

   "What a crazy idea!" Hawk scoffed. "Surely the rats would have been eradicated along with the bunnies! Don't you remember the great woodland creature purge of 2133?"

Scout frowned.

   "Was that when Dread ordered all 'cute, fwuffy wittle' creature destroyed because he had one too many kids leave the Dread Youth in the pursuit of bunnies?"

   "Now, that's a motivation I never thought of," Pilot reflected briefly before snapping back into character...or not. "Hey, wait a minute! I thought they left because they were human scum working against the glory and perfection of the machine!"

   "You've really gotta stop believing everything you hear," Hawk sighed.

   "Hey, who won the Superbowl that year?" Scout asked, scratching his head.

   "There was no Superbowl that year," Hawk scoffed. "He eradicated all the football players the previous year."

   "You know, after I was genetically engineered, I figured I could make some money playing football. But after the eradication of all sports figures, fighting Dread in a suit of armour seems like a much more comfortable way to make a living," Tank sighed.

   "Plus, why would you want to make money in a system where it has no value?" Scout asked.

   "I like the pretty colours," Tank replied seriously.

   "So, why would Dread bother to eradicate all the football players?" Hawk asked.

   "Who can tell the motives of a madman?" Captain Power asked, stopping and striking a dramatic pose.

   "Uh, sane people?" Hawk suggested.

   "Well…yeah, but…oh, forget it. My moment's gone. Now. Were we out here for a reason?"

   "I thought we were just out on patrol," Tank said.

   "Patrolling is very important," Scout added, nodding. "And besides, it beats doing the laundry."

They all nodded thoughtfully, recalling the importance of laundry day, particularly for a group of people who lived constantly in one set of clothes. Then, with a frown, Tank spoke up.

   "Since when have you ever done the laundry?" he demanded. "It's always me."

   "You're the only one with two sets of clothes," Scout protested.

   "Don't we all technically have two sets of clothes?" Hawk asked. "We could all just wear our Power Suits while we're doing laundry."

   "Well! Now that we've solved that complex issue, can we move on? Let's just go on our random mission that will never be fully explained, because it is only being used to set up today's odd happenings, or 'plot,' if you will, and no one will remember it after the fact anyway."

Hawk, Tank, Scout, and Pilot shrugged. 

   "Okay," Hawk agreed. "So, should we split up into two groups for no reason aside from the fact that that way Blastarr AND Soaron can come after us?"

   "Sounds good!" Power agreed. "Tank, why don't you come with me, and Hawk, Scout, and Pilot, you go...do something else. Go...investigate that building or something."

   "O-kay!" the three shouted happily, skipping off in a dramatic lapse of characterization, neither the first nor the last.

-----------------------------------

   "Hehehe!" Benny the Loser-Overunit giggled, tiptoeing out of the abandoned video store. "This is one of Lord Dread's most brilliant schemes ever!"

   "I do not have schemes!" Lord Dread bellowed from Volcaina, thus showing off his amazing lung – or rather, speaker – capacity. "I have plans that will serve to bring glory to the machine, creating a gleaming world of perfection and order! I am not some rampaging Scooby Doo villain who will be thwarted by a group of five misfits! At least, I hope not," he finished, glancing about him nervously.

   "Hey, are we misfits?" Captain Power wondered from somewhere else entirely.

   "Could be, Jon," Hawk replied, despite having been sent with the other group, and thus being nowhere near either Jon or Lord Dread. "Could be."

   "There! You see?" Dread demanded triumphantly.

   "Yes, My Lord Dread," Benny agreed meekly despite the fact that he didn't see at all. Really, he should get around to cutting his bangs one of these days...

   "Is the item secure?"

   "It is, my lord. They won't know the darkest evils they have stumbled upon!" Benny laughed.

   "I have told you before, it is not the way of evil," Lord Dread said snippily. "The way of the machine is perfection. The way of the organics must be eradicated. Their way is the way of evil."

   "Yeah!" Benny cheered. "Machines! Whoo!"

   "Er, yes. Thank-you, Benny, who is designated Loser-Overunit."

Beaming proudly, Benny continued to tiptoe away, just as the front door of the abandoned video store creaked open, and then proceeded to fall of the hinges and land on Pilot, who rather resented this.

----------------------------------

   "Tank, you need to watch your strength," Hawk sighed.

   "Tank's with the other group," Pilot informed him from under the door. "Ow, by the way."

   "Oh, right. Hawk, watch your strength!" Hawk admonished.

   "Uh...you ARE Hawk," Scout reminded him gently.

   "Oh, right," Hawk laughed sheepishly. "Hey, look! A video store!"

   "An _abandoned_ video store?" Scout asked.

   "Yeah, as opposed to the other kind," Hawk laughed. "The fully staffed video store."

   "Hey, you never know," Scout said defensively. 

   "Well, tell you what. Why don't we ask the clerk behind the counter over there if this is an abandoned video store or a fully staffed video store? Uh, sir?" Hawk called. "Sir? Hey, sir? I guess that answers that."

   "Uh...guys? There's still a door on me! Guys? Oh, forget it," Pilot sighed. "I hate men. I think Dread was onto something with his whole 'eradication of all organics' deal."

-----------------------------------

   "Hey, look at this one," Scout called to Hawk, holding up a video box. "It looks good."

   "We're looking for Bio-Mechs," Hawk said severely. "We're not here to rent a flick."

   "Y'know, we probably wouldn't have to pay the rental fees," Scout said thoughtfully, leaning against the counter, the rotting wood of which promptly gave way to deposit him on the floor. "Ouch."

Hawk wheeled on the younger man.

   "I don't like the way this world is headed when humans are stealing from other humans."

   "And it's such a nice world otherwise," Pilot called from the doorway.

   "Just look for Bio-Mechs, you two," Hawk said wearily.

   "Great! I'll just get right on that. Well, there are none under this door with me."

   "I'm serious, Hawk!" Scout said. "You should check this flick out! It's about a sea of faceless automatons commanded by a bionic man who hates life, and the heroes who rise up against him!"

   "What's it called?" Hawk asked absently.

   "Star Wars!" Scout replied. 

   "Sounds dull. I watch movies to escape reality," Hawk said. "Why don't we get this one? 'The Wizard of Oz'." 

   "Are there any Bio-Mechs in it?" Scout asked. "Because I thought that was why we were here."

   "No, no Bio-Mechs, unless you count that tin fellow," Hawk replied, completely missing the point. "But it does have a sequel. See? 'The Return to Oz.'"

   "Yeah? Well, this 'Star Wars' one has _two_ sequels! And three prequels!"

   "Wasn't the third prequel really bad?" 

   "Yeah," Scout agreed sadly. "When George Lucas died unexpectedly in that pudding accident, they really shouldn't have handed the reigns over to David Lynch. 'Episode Three: Jar-Jar's Velvet Peaks'," he read, shaking his head. "And what's with all the donuts and coffee? And look! Padme's wrapped in plastic!"

   "She's dead," Hawk noted. 

   "They're all dead, Hawk," Scout said gently. "Every single person in this movie is dead."

   "I know," Hawk said through gritted teeth. "Now, can we please look for Bio-Mechs? And get this movie? I want to follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick road."

   "I'm off to watch the Star Wars!" Scout sang in reply. 

   "If only this door was a little heavier, I'd be dead, and I wouldn't have to listen to them singing," Pilot said wistfully.

   "Hey!" the booming voice of Tank exclaimed from outside the shop. "What are you doing under the door, Pilot?"

   "I can't feel my legs," she noted curiously.

Both Scout and Hawk stared strangely at the door for a time. Then Scout picked up another video.

   "'Mad Max'," he read before chucking the video over his shoulder. "'Escape from New York', 'Escape from L.A.', 'Escape from Pitsburgh', 'Terminator 5', 'Planet of the Apes'."

   "I hate those documentaries," Hawk scoffed. "Those people don't know how lucky they had it! I'd trade my wings for a planet ruled by apes. At least apes know how to treat people decent!" 

   "It's okay, Hawk," Scout said soothingly. "I know you miss the time when people were still all apes."

Hawk glared.

   "Get stuffed!"

   "In the meantime, this door hasn't moved itself," Tank shouted to them.

The next instant, the crack of splintering wood rent the air, and a shower of wood-shavings drifted down upon the barren wasteland that is the future. 

   "Well, I'm off again," Tank announced, sauntering away. Then he frowned. "Why did I come back here, anyway?"

   "It's a video store," Hawk replied. "Everyone loves a good flick!"

   "Actually, it was the cries of 'help, help, I'm under a door,'" he informed his friend. "But I don't know where they came from. While the Captain is taking care of whatever it is he does while off camera, I must go find their source and free the poor soul trapped beneath a door!"

And so, off he went.

   "Hey, Pilot, if you're out from under the door, get in here!" Hawk called.

   "Why? So I can look at movies with you?" she sighed, rolling her eyes.

   "Yeah! We found the adult section!" Scout said jubilantly

   "No kidding," she agreed, shaking her head sadly at one poster and the rather too round...feminine wiles portrayed thereby. "This is where the origin of the implantation process began. Oh, what fools these humans were!" Then she looked at Scout and Hawk, fascinated by the racks of…well, racks. "Are." 

-----------------------------

Meanwhile, elsewhere...

   "But who can tell the motives of a madman?" Captain Power quoted. "Oh, yeah. That's gold, Jonny! Who? Who can tell the motives? Of a madman? Who, I ask you? Can you? Is it our place to question the motives of a madman? Am I talking to myself? Where is everybody?

--------------------------------

   "So...what is it?" Scout asked slowly as the three crowded around the tiny object on the floor of the abandoned video shop.

   "Best I can figure, it's some type of mechanical canine," Hawk shrugged.

   "Those Dread bastards," Scout hissed. "Dehumanizing everything! Even tiny puppy-dogs. That thing is evil. Evil! Evil!"

   "I think it's cute!" Pilot said, abandoning all characterization yet again and huggling the tiny fuzzy creature.

   "Hey, wait a second! It's one of those flippy-dogs!" Hawk noted delightedly. "You know, Jon used to have one of those. His father gave it to him on his fifteenth birthday."

   "Fifteenth?" Scout and Pilot repeated incredulously.

   "Hey, it was the best Stuart could manage. By then all the car dealerships had been eradicated from the earth."

   "Damn you, Dread," Scout said viciously. "Because of you, I never got to drive a pimpin' rod!"

   "Would you stop using that archaic slang?" Hawk requested, glaring. "Anyway, that wasn't Dread. You see, it seems a lot of people were getting a little annoyed with the dishonesty of the used car places. A couple of hijacked bombs later, there wasn't a one to be found on the earth. Except in parts of rural Montana. So, anyway, what do you think? Should we take the puppy back with us?"

   "No way! It's evil!" Scout exclaimed. "How do we know that it isn't going to turn on us?"

   "Hey, look," Pilot said, peering closely at something. "It's got a tag. 'Hi! My name is Mr. Woofy,'" she read. "'Cute, aren't I?' Heehee! Yeah...Oh, wait, there's something on the back. 'I also have no intention of turning on you. Honest! Heh-heh-heh.'"

   "See, Scout? The tag even said so!" Hawk said soothingly, completely missing the little mechanical eyes of the toy shifting nervously from side to side.

Scout gripped Hawk by the shirt. 

   "And how do I know you're not one of them?"

   "Scout," Pilot said nervously, prying the young man's fingers from the older man's shirt, "did you forget to take your pills again?"

   "Can't...breathe..." Hawk choked.

   "Right, right, sorry," Scout sighed. "I'm sure the dog is harmless. Harmless in a ruthlessly evil kind of way!"

   "Great," Hawk sighed, dusting himself off. "Now, let's get going. If we leave Jon on his own for too long, he gets all dramatic."

   "But I still want a movie!" Scout whined.

   "Oh, just grab something from the bargain bin! Geez! And leave a fiver on the counter," Hawk added.

   "Alright. I'll be out in a second," Scout called as Hawk and Pilot left. "Heh-heh-heh…now I'll just grab a bag, load in all these Star Wars movies, and maybe a couple others…"

He reached for the box lying nearest to his hand.

   "What do we have here?"

He examined the box for a moment, and then, with a shriek of terror, bolted from the video store, leaving in his wake the only remaining copy of 'Cube'. 

---------------------------------

Meanwhile, a gigantic meteor, summoned by a tall guy with cool white hair in a long black coat, with an immensely cool eight-foot sword, landed on Soaron, who, predictably, was blown into a gadzillion pieces, give or take twelve.

   "Blastarr!" Lord Dread barked, shoving a tube of adhesive at the large robot. "Here is a tube of crazy-glue. Go and piece Soaron back together."

   "Why do we not just wait for him to regenerate?"

   "Silence, fool!" Dread howled. "Do my bidding or taste my wrath!"

   "'Kay," Blastarr grumbled. "But I want to shoot stuff."

   "Oh, very well, my child. You may shoot stuff. But just random rock formations, which may or may not have Captain Power or one of his team of soldiers...of the future," he added grudgingly, " – hiding behind it."

   "Hooray," Blastarr cheered tonelessly, rolling away.

   "Now I need two more minions," Lord Dread reflected. "To substitute for Blastarr and Soaron for a while. Temps, if you will. Using my highly advanced brain, and with the help of Overmind, I will randomly select two people."

He thought very carefully, then wandered over to the large glowing sphere in the middle of the room.

   "Overmind, I need your guidance," he called.

   "What is it, meat-thing?" Overmind asked in a voice remarkably like Tim Curry's. "I am busy playing Spider Solitaire."

   "Hey!" Dread protested. "I am mostly machine! More machine than man, surely."

   "Fine, robo-thing," Overmind sighed. "What guidance do you require?"

   "Tell me who I ought to appoint my temporary minions."

   "Appoint the overunit who is called Benny Loser."

   "Him?! He's a loser!"

   "Which is, believe it or not, how he acquired his name. And...as for the other one, just pull out some random child. Perhaps one who has held a guest star role in the past, simply because it might be nice to see a familiar face."

   "Yes. I will do this.  Benny the Loser Overunit and Erin the Random Girl!" he barked into the speaker on his wall. "I call you before me now."

----------------------------------

   "Eep!" Benny eeped. "I must have messed up on the flippy-dog thing! I'll be digitized for sure! This really sucks!"

----------------------------------

   "..." said Erin, the random girl that some of us may recall from past...adventures. 'I wonder if this has anything to do with the last time I guest-starred,' she thought, as excessive talking for these nice young people of the Dread Youth is rather frowned upon. 'Funny...I had planned to make a daring escape before now. Oh, well. Maybe this Benny guy will want to come with me,' she concluded in a stunning and silent display of foreshadowing.

----------------------------------

   "Hey, Jon, we found you a present!" Hawk called happily, Mr. Woofy tucked under his arm as he, Scout, and Pilot approached the little ship doo-hickey.

   "You're not going to throw another block of cement at me, are you?" Captain Power asked suspiciously.

   "Uh...no," Hawk assured him, laughing nervously as he tossed aside the hunk of cement in his other hand.

   "Ow!" Scout shrieked as the cement block landed on his foot. He glowered resentfully. "I'll bet that damn devil dog made him do that," he muttered to Pilot.

   "Actually, we have another present for you!" Hawk announced happily, holding out the little furry brown shape. "Here!"

   "Is that...a bunny-rat?" Power asked, scratching his head.

   "No way! Those are too damn hard to catch!" Hawk laughed.

   "Ow! Get this thing off of me!" Tank bellowed, shaking his arm, a bunny-rat firmly attached by the teeth.

   "So, what is it?" Jon asked, holding it gingerly by the ears. 

   "It's a flippy-dog!" Hawk said. "Remember the last one you had?"

   "Oh, yeah! Billy-Boy! I remember Billy-Boy! He was great!"

Jon sighed, eyes growing shiny with happy memories. He shook his head, laughing as he continued.

   "He'd walk a little, and he'd bark, and then he'd do a flip! And then, he'd do it again! It was great! I could spend hours watching that thing!"

   "Wow. Someone's easily entertained," Scout commented to Pilot.

   "Oh, right. And the guy who's willing to watch six videos of Star Wars isn't?" she scoffed.

   "Hey, Lucas has a good view of women's proper place in the galaxy! They are to be love interests and damsels."

She looked up sharply.

   "Oh, really. Hey, let's talk for a second…"

[Caution: violent scene deleted for your protection]

   "Ow..." Scout whimpered, lying mangled and bleeding on the ground.

   "Whoa!" Hawk exclaimed. "Scout's mangled and bleeding! Go clean up, boy!"

   "Can I do it when we get back to the base?" Scout asked weakly.

   "Sure. Speaking of which, should we get going so we don't keep providing an easy target for whatever enemies might be roaming about, looking for us?" Hawk suggested.

   "Stupid enemies," Captain Power spat. "You'll never separate me from my flippy-dog!" 

He glanced up to see everyone staring oddly at him.

   "What?"

--------------------------------

End Notes: Well, here it is. The revised version of Chapter 1. We had this crazy urge to make it suck less. We think it's better now. Without the porno shop. ^_^


	2. Do You Round Up or Do You Round Down?

Chapter 2 – Do You Round Up, Or Do You Round Down?

------------------------------------------

Author's Notes: Well, contrary to what everyone would probably prefer, we're back! Honestly, Bezo and Yezo both agree that this chapter was heaps better. Slightly solider characterization – comparatively – better silly gags, and just…funnier. 

And to respond to our reviewer's comment (God bless you, by the way! ^_^), we're doing this parody because Bezo liked the show moderately, but found it hilarious in many ways that it wasn't supposed to be. Yezo, who adored it far more than she should have, made him sit through the entire season. He was made quite bitter by this, so when Yezo asked for his help writing the flippy-dog story, he agreed, but only on the condition that we could mock the hell out of the universe. Since Yezo just wanted to write some freaking CP 'fic, and couldn't think up a serious idea to try herself, she agreed. And so this tale was born. ^_^

Oh, while we've got your attention, we should probably explain the repeated references to Scout's utter terror of the Cube, and his obsession with his 'math hottie'. Maurice Dean Wint was in Cube, which explains both jokes, if you've seen the movie. Go Math Hottie! ^_^

-----------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------

   "What brings you to overunit counselling?" Lord Dread asked, scowling at the pimply-faced young man.

   "W-well, I'm just not adjusting to the life of an overunit. Y'know, I wanna be all gung-ho, and yaay machines, but...it's really hard to get used to. I think I have to take baby-steps, y'know? 'Cause this is a huge lifestyle change!"

   "Oh," Dread said, an eyebrow that he didn't have lifting slightly. "May I suggest the following?"

With that, he whipped out a cattle prod and whacked the young man firmly upside the head with it.

   "I shoulda known better than to go to Lord Dread for supportive counselling," the young overunit croaked as he pulled his charred, smoking self out the door.

Dread glared after him.

   "Don't come back until you've accepted your place in the New Order! You're grounded, young Mister! Blastarr, kill him."

   "I'm not here." Blastarr said over the comm.-link. "I'm busy putting Soaron back together again. I have synthesized all the king's horses and all the king's men, but sadly, our progress has been hampered."

   "I'll have to kill him my self," Dread grumbled. "Isn't there anyone else around here who can kill him? Loser Overunit who is designated Benny!"

   "I thought it was Benny who is designated Overunit!" the scrawny young man said, scratching his hat in confusion.

      "Digital potato, digital potahto," Dread said impatiently. "Do not question my choice of words! Now, Loser Overunit, you will kill that Overunit who just left."

   "But it's so far," Benny whined. 

   "Fine. Then bring me some motor oil. I could use a drink."

   "Yessir!" Benny chirped, saluting and bonking himself in the head. "Ow! Sorry. Ow, sir!"

   "Surrounded by idiots," Lord Dread sighed.

   "I am Lackki," the little robot announced as it rolled past, making for quite a useful visual aid. "I live to serve."

-----------------------------------

   "Hit me," Tank requested, hitching his chair closer to the little round table.

   "Are ya sure, Tank?" Hawk laughed. "I don't want you to get mad."

   "Give me cards," Tank said, annoyed. "Hit me. I fold."

   "For someone with the best poker-face I've ever seen, you sure aren't getting the hang of this," Hawk noted, shaking his head.

   "What do you mean by that?" Tank asked.

   "Even if you have a lousy hand, you can still bluff," the older man replied. "Y'know, pretend you've got the greatest hand in the world."

   "And I suppose that strategy is why you currently owe us all your money and your pants," Pilot said.

   "I ain't licked yet!" Hawk declared. "Get stuffed!" 

   "Who can tell the motives of a madman?" Jon murmured to himself.

   "You need any cards, Jon?" Hawk asked, changing the subject from his lack of pants.

   "Who can tell?"

Hawk stopped short and glared at him.

   "You could tell, actually. Us, for a start."

Jon looked down at his cards and smiled widely.

   "I'm good."

   "Fold," Hawk said immediately, tossing his cards onto the table.

   "Fold," Pilot agreed, tossing her cards onto the pile.

   "Hit me," Tank said. "I need two."

   "You got it, buddy," Hawk agreed, passing two cards across the table.

   "Hmm," Tank mused, looking down at his hand. "Is a ten, a jack, a queen, a king, and an ace, all the same suit, a good thing or a bad thing?"

   "Fold," Jon said immediately.

   "I'm just wondering. I don't have it or anything; I was just curious."

The other three sat in silence for a moment. Then…

   "Un-fold," Jon said, shuffling through the middle pile. "Can we do that?"

   "No one's played this game competitively for years," Hawk laughed. "We can do whatever we want."

   "Cool," Tank said. "Give me more aces."

   "Within reason, Tank. Within reason. Un-fold," Hawk concluded, grabbing his cards back.

   "Alright, let's just see what we've all got," Jon suggested. "Whoever wins, gets all the…bottlecaps. Great. Yaay for bottlecaps."

   "Hey, it was the best I could do," Hawk protested. "Scout doesn't leave a lot of stuff lying around."

   "Hit me," Tank requested.

   "We're done with that, Tank," Hawk informed him gently. "Everyone show your cards."

Jon threw down his hand.

   "Uh, interesting," Hawk commented slowly. "A four of cups, a nine of pentacles, the empress, a seven of swords, and…death." 

   "Yeah," Jon said sadly. "It isn't a very good hand, _and_ someone's going to die."

   "Right. Let's move on. Tank, what've you got?"

   "Five aces," Tank replied. "Is that good?"

   "Sure is," Hawk said. "It's impossibly good."

   "Yaay," Tank cheered with all the enthusiasm he could muster. "Does that mean I win?"

   "Only if we reward cheating," Hawk replied.

Tank considered this carefully.

   "Is that a rule?"

Hawk sighed.

   "There's no hope. Okay, Pilot, what've you got?"

   "Four jokers and the copyright card! And since jokers are wild, I say I've got five copyright cards, which means I win since the copyright card trumps all!" 

   "Uh…huh," Hawk said very slowly. "Is anyone actually not cheating?"

   "I'm cheating badly! I used tarot cards," Jon said proudly.

   "None of you are any good at it," Hawk scoffed. "Five aces? Tarot cards? Five copyright cards? And…" Here, he peered closely at something in the middle of the table. "A sweater? Whose idea was it to use a sweater?"

   "It's a cardigan," Pilot informed him. "I was going to use that until the copyright card came along."

   "Great," Hawk sighed.

   "What've you got, Hawk?" Tank asked.

Hawk glanced down at his hand. 

   "Uh…five ace of hearts," he admitted carefully.

   "Oh, really!" Jon laughed. "I wonder how he managed that!"

   "Hey, hold on! I have one ace of hearts," Tank said, scratching his head in confusion. "I thought the deck only had four!"

   "A deck is only supposed to have four aces, period," Jon said, glaring at Hawk and Tank in turn.

   "So…they can be any suit?" Tank asked.

   "No! One of each suit!"

   "There's only four suits?"

A long silence. Then…

   "Why don't we play Blackjack?" Hawk suggested.

   "Hit me," Tank requested.

   "Oh, I'm tempted to," Hawk grumbled. "Look, why don't _you_ play Solitaire, and _we'll_ play Blackjack?" 

   "Can I play Solitaire with him?" Pilot asked.

   "As a matter of fact, you probably could. See how the five copyright cards fit in," Hawk suggested.

   "Hey, do you two need the tarot cards?" Jon asked. "You could make a new rule to add them."

   "Playing Solitaire with tarot cards seems risky to me," Tank said solemnly. "Who knows what could go wrong?"

   "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!" a panicked voice interrupted at this unlucky juncture. "Someone help! It's trying to kill me!"

Hawk shook his head good-naturedly. 

   "What's trying to kill you now, Scout?" he called out the door as the terrified young man ran past again. "Is it the cube again?"

   "It's the damn devil dog," Scout replied, bolting into the room, a towel barely preserving his decency. "I knew it was up to something!"

   "Why don't you tell us exactly what happened, Scout?" Jon asked, guiding him to a chair. 

   "But can you put some pants on?" Tank requested from the table, where a heated Solitaire match was already taking place.

Scout blinked in surprise.

   "I'm not wearing pants?"

   "No," everyone else replied in unison.

   "I'm not wearing pants either," Hawk said, "but you don't see me drawing attention to…where's your pants?!"

   "Well, do I at least have a towel? I coulda sworn I had a towel…"

   "Yes, Scout, you _had_ a towel. It came loose while you were running around screaming. Now, please put it back on before I claw my eyes out of my head," Hawk requested, one hand tightly covering his eyes and the other holding out the younger man's towel.

   "Hey, sorry, man, but that devil dog is to blame, not me!" Scout said severely.

   "Slow down, Scout, and tell us what just happened," Jon said, also averting his eyes as Scout tied his towel back on.  

Scout felt a slight pressure and looked down to see Pilot tucking a bottlecap into his towel, then winking conspiratorially.

   "Hey," he noted, "isn't that mine?"

   "Uh…no," she smiled toothily at him.

   "Cool!  More bottlecaps!"

   "The story?"  Hawk reminded him.

   "Right, it all began like this…"

---------------------------------------------

The music of several harps began as the scene melted away, gradually shifting to the shower, from which Scout had just emerged, wrapped in a towel. 

   "And now," he said jubilantly, "a little time to read my favourite magazine!"

He reached beneath the laundry hamper and withdrew a small magazine.

   "'Amazonians Monthly'," he read slowly. "O-kay, that one's not mine." 

He tried again.

   "'Women of Mystery'," he read. "Must be Hawk's."

He tossed the magazine over his shoulder and tried again. 

   "'Modern Thespian'?" he read, perplexed. "This one must be Pilot's. But why's she keeping her magazine here? And is there something she wants to tell us?"

------------------------------------------

   "Okay, I've got to interrupt this story," Jon said somewhat sheepishly. "The 'Modern Thespian' is mine."

   "Captain! I had no idea you were into that sort of thing!"

   "What, acting?" Jon shrugged.

   "Oh! So you just _act_ like a gay woman!" 

   "What?!"

   "What, you mean you really _are_ a gay woman?"

    "No! What are you going on about, Scout? Has this 'cube' of yours damaged your brain?" 

   "I don't think it was the cube," Tank interjected before going immediately back to his Solitaire game. "Hit me." He paused for a moment, then picked up a card and handed it to himself. "Okay."

Jon sighed.

   "Scout, do you know what a thespian is?"

   "Well, I thought I did. Isn't it when a girl decides that another girl's lookin' pretty good, so they go off and-"

   "No! That's…something completely different! A thespian is an actor! Like Shakespeare? 'To be or not to be'? Or Tarantino! One of the great literary giants! You know, 'who can tell the motive of a madman,' that kind of stuff."

   "Yeah, I think I saw that one on the cover," Scout noted.

   "Well, what can I say? I have to get my dazzlingly clever material from somewhere."

   "Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" Tank asked from the card table. "Hit me again." He handed himself a card. "Thanks."

   "Hey, guys? Did you want to hear the rest of this story?" Scout asked, annoyed.

   "Honestly?" Hawk asked. "I don't know if I like where it's headed. You just stepped out of the shower, you're looking through our porno collections – this really can't lead to anything good."

   "Finally, I found my magazine," Scout said, completely ignoring Hawk.

--------------------------------------------

   "Ah! Math Hotties Weekly!" Scout noted, pleased. 

He settled down into a chair and flipped to the centre. 

   "Ooh, the centrefold's doing calculus," he said, ogling the girl on the page, a cute li'l redhead in a plaid jumper hiked up almost to the waist, holding a calculator and a textbook, peering at the book through thick-rimmed glasses. "Ooh, yeah! Factor, baby! Factor!" he urged the photo, missing a few things about reality: namely, that pictures don't answer back, and…more than a few things about math. "Tell me this, honey: do you round up, or do you round down?" 

----------------------------------------------

   "Scout, thank-you for this insightful and disturbing look into your life," Hawk broke in, "but weren't you going somewhere with this?"

Scout thought for a long moment.

   "Oh, yeah, right, the dog. Anyway, I was just enjoying a few minutes with my girls, when I noticed that flippy-dog hovering near the door! I thought it was kinda weird, since I hadn't brought it in. Then I noticed the thing had a knife in its mouth! I tried to get up really slowly, but I guess it wasn't slowly enough, because the thing jumped at me!"

   "Mr. Woofy would never do that!" Jon said, cuddling the toy defensively.

   "Yeah! It said right on the tag, 'I also have no intention of turning on you'! _No_ intention!" Pilot added.

   "Well, attacking me with a knife sure sounds like turning to me!" Scout exclaimed, backing nervously away from Mr. Woofy.

   "Are you saying the dog lied?" Hawk asked suspiciously.

   "How could such a cute little thing be a liar?" Tank demanded. "Would you like to play Solitaire with me, doggie?"

Mr. Woofy bounced over to the table, bounced onto the chair, and then bounced up.

   "Awww," said everyone save Scout, who was still glaring viciously at it.

   "Doesn't anyone else care that the thing couldn't walk before?" Scout demanded.

   "Well, Furbie learns as it goes; maybe Mr. Woofy does, too," Tank suggested, scratching the toy behind its little robot ear.

   "Tank, it's eating your cards," Hawk pointed out, gesturing to the little flippy-dog which was, indeed, munching happily and ferociously away on the cards.

   "It's probably just hungry."

   "It's a toy!" Scout howled. "It doesn't need to eat!"

   "Who can tell the motives of a mad-dog?" Tank asked as dramatically as he could, stroking his beard.

Hawk, Scout, and Pilot snickered.

Jon glared.

   "Are you making fun of me?"

--------------------------------------------------

   "It has been approximately three-thousand, nine-hundred, and sixty-three seconds since I assigned Benny the Loser Overunit the task of bringing my motor oil," Lord Dread said. "According to my calculations, it should have taken only one-thousand, two-hundred, and fifteen seconds. I demand to know the reason behind the imprecision!"

   "You are forgetting that you deal with Benny," Overmind said.

   "If you knew he would not make an efficient minion, why did you assign him to me?" Dread demanded.

   "To be brutally frank, and as a machine of the highest order of perfection, it is all that I can be, I don't like you very much," Overmind replied.

   "Fair enough," Dread shrugged. "As an unemotional being, that has no bearing on my performance whatsoever. Big meanie," he concluded, sniffling slightly. Then, drawing himself up to a full height of five foot three, he glowered at the second of his temporary minions. "Random girl who is designated Erin!"

   "Yes, my Lord?"

   "You will go to find out the cause of this two-thousand, seven-hundred and forty-eight second discrepancy."

   "Haven't you been talking for about thirty-eight point nine three seconds?" the girl asked hesitantly.

   "Those are not billable hours. And it was actually thirty-eight point nine _four_ seconds. I wouldn't expect an organic like you to understand the meaning of precision," Dread said airily. "Now, go!"

   "It will be done, my Lord." 

----------------------------------------------

   "No! That doesn't go there!" Soaron protested as Blastarr tried to fit his leg up his nose. "Stop that!"

   "If I'd known you were going to sit there and complain, I would have saved your head for last, scrap heap," Blastarr grumbled with the uncomfortable sensation that the insult was not a new one. "I'm spending a great deal more time repairing you than I wanted to. There are several rock formations in the nearby area that desperately need shooting."

   "Perhaps if you'd repaired me correctly the first time," Soaron suggested.

   "I asked if you had a manual, you said no, and I'm going to need something a little more helpful than "no, that's not the right way"," Blastarr said.

   "What happened to all the kings' horses and the kings' men?" Soaron asked.

Blastarr stopped and looked up.

   "They stopped behind a rock formation for afternoon tea. Unfortunately, it was the one I was aiming for. On the plus side, I hit it on the first try."

   "Bravo," Soaron said as sarcastically as he could.

   "I'm doing the very best I can, Soaron. You could be a little more supportive," Blastarr said reproachfully.

   "Go network with yourself," Soaron grumbled as he found his left foot being crammed into his ear.

   "Is that better?" Blastarr asked, cramming the foot into Soaron's mouth.

Soaron made a muffled noise of protest.

Blastarr would have smiled if he could have.

   "Yes. Much better."

-----------------------------------------------------

   "Eugh!" Benny said, wrinkling up his face in disgust, tossing another can of motor oil over his shoulder. "That one tastes bad, too! He sends me off for motor oil, he doesn't tell me what brand, how am I supposed to pick? I suppose without motor oil, the Bio-Dread Empire wouldn't be a well-oiled machine!" 

He was startled by a noise behind him.

   "Are you hurt?" he asked the girl standing in the doorway, in alarm. 

   "No, that was funny," she replied. "I was laughing. I think."

   "I didn't think we were allowed to think," Benny said. 

   "Screw the robot empire! This girl showed up a while ago and shot me – "

   "Shot you?!" Benny repeated in alarm.

   "No, that's not the part," Erin said, waving away further comment. "After she shot me!"

   "She shot you?! How terrible!"

   "I said that wasn't the part! Listen! After that! She cut a hole in my pants and – why is your nose bleeding?"

   "I don't know," Benny replied innocently, one hand clamped over his nose as he cursed all things anime rules. "Go on."

   "So, she cut a hole in my pants – "

   "Uh-huh," Benny said, drooling slightly.

   " – and fixed my leg and then rambled on about how machines are bad and we're not machines 'cause we're people instead!"

   "Oh! For a second there, I thought you were a thespian!" Benny laughed.

   "What's a thespian?" Erin asked.

   "It's like an actor," Benny said wisely. "So, finish your story, okay?"

   "That was it."

   "Wow. So, machines suck, huh?" Benny said conversationally.

   "Yup. That's what I hear."

   "That's not what I hear mostly. I hear that machines are perfection and humans are scum and all messy and stuff."

   "Hmm. I suppose both arguments are equally valid," Erin said thoughtfully. "Anyway, Lord Dread sent me to find out why you're taking so long to get his oil. I think he's thirsty." 

   "I can't decide which one tastes best!" Benny wailed. "Why don't you take a taste and see which one you like best?"

   "That's alright," Erin said hastily. "Let's take the one with the most colourful can."

   "I thought colours were bad. Only red, black, and grey are cool." 

   "Well, I guess we'd better get back to Lord Dread. He's counting the seconds. Trust me. We should talk again some time."

   "Yeah," Benny agreed shyly, his eyes dreamy and his nose still bleeding a little. Then, grabbing one of the cans of motor oil, he tucked it into his shirt. "I'm saving this one for later."


End file.
